


bang bang

by haipollai



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Guns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/pseuds/haipollai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve sits in the back of the car, watching familiar streets slide by. He's exhausted, almost three days, not letting himself get a good rest. Not able to get a good rest. Not after hearing what Zola wanted from him.</p>
<p>He wants to be selfish, he wants to say no, but he can't do that. He won't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bang bang

"You two can go now, seriously. I've got this part."

Steve lets Bucky's words wash over him, focusing instead on helping Sam with making sure the scene looked believable. The bruising won't match up to the rope they have around his neck but hopefully the coroner won't pay too much attention. It's a busy city after all.

"Why do we keep him around?" Sam grumbles.

"Because I give you fucking amazing head," Bucky answers.

Sam makes a show of considering it before nodding. "Yea, I guess." They step back from the body, now hanging from in improvised noose in the hotel shower. The maid will find him in a few days, unless the smell brings in someone sooner. He uses one of the dead guy's hands to turn on the shower.

"Fuck you, 'you guess'."

"Ok, let's get out of here," Steve interrupts, knowing the two can keep going if he lets them. He gives Bucky a hard look. "And get you checked out." Bucky purses his lips but doesn't argue. He's still cradling his ribs where the mark got in a lucky blow that had sent him stumbling into a dresser. Sam slips an arm around his waist as they slip out of the hotel room, Steve heading one way, the two of them the other. Bucky had tried to argue that he should go out alone but they had shut that down quickly. Not if he had a concussion.

Steve's phone vibrates when he's a block away, headed for the subway. "You guys are gonna have to keep me up all night," Bucky says brightly. Steve can hear Sam laughing in the background, they must be in a cab.

"As if that's ever been a problem before," Steve teases back. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Good. Better. Be safe."

Steve smiles as he heads down the stairs. He's not entirely sure how they got here sometimes. Their business makes them rivals but they need this too. The three of them supporting each other. Steve hadn't even realized how much he needed someone until he and Sam fell into bed together.

He fidgets with his phone the entire trip home, trying to busy himself with figuring out his schedule, there might be a good job coming up but he had to finish some other business first. And Bucky had to be ok. His voice had sound so panicked on the call. But he's with Sam now and Sam is better at field medicine than Steve, it didn't even have to be a discussion to know Sam would escort Bucky back.

-

There's no sign of a concussion, just a nasty bump and some bruising where the guy's elbow had hit him. Steve doesn't try to get Bucky out of bed the next morning, letting him doze as he and Sam get up. They each have their own routines. Steve goes for a jog before anything else, but Sam has created a small rooftop garden on their building. Bucky teases him about trying to be zen but Steve finds him up there almost as often.

Bucky's out of bed when Steve gets back, perched on one of the kitchen stools with a cup of coffee and nose buried in the paper. "How long do you think?" Bucky asks without looking up.

Steve shrugs. "A few days. But the job is done. Client can't complain." It's not the first time there have been mistakes on a job, it won't be the last. Bucky is young though, he's not always good at putting things behind him.

"If it makes the news-"

"With nothing to lead back to any of us." He touches his fingertips to the nape of Bucky's neck. After a second he feels the tension start to leave him. "I need to shower."

Bucky nods, already distracted again by the news.

-

Steve takes his time, there's no rush to be anywhere. Sharon wants to talk to him but the meeting is that evening. When he gets out, Sam has joined Bucky in the kitchen, pulling another stool over so his chest is pressed to Bucky's side, resting a chin on his shoulder. 

He hangs back, watching them. Sam catches his eye and smirks, leaning into bite down gently at the lobe of Bucky's ear. Their bodies hide most of what's going on but Bucky sighs softly, his head titling back, eyes closed. Sam has to shift slightly to accommodate the shift in weight and Steve can see his arm, moving in a slow, steady rhythm. Bucky's breathing comes faster and he reaches out with one hand to cling to Sam.

Sam angles Bucky's head back further, leaning in to mouth at his neck. Bucky's eyes are squeezed shut and even though they're alone, with no neighbors, he bites at his lower lip to keep quiet. Old habits.

Bucky finally lets out a low moan, his whole body going tense for a moment before he slumps against Sam. Steve can hear him mumble something but he can't make the words out so he finally pushes away from the door to join them. He comes in from the side to make sure Bucky sees him.

"He was moping," Sam says, his arms curled almost protectively around Bucky.

"Was not," Bucky protests half heartedly. "It should have been an easy job," he says after a moment. "I fucked it up."

Steve curls his fingers around Bucky's chin and makes him look up at him. "You didn't fuck up. You did the right thing in a shit situation."

"I didn't even have a concussion-"

"But you thought you did. Fuck we did too," Sam says.

Bucky's eyes narrow, he looks like he might try arguing it further but instead his shoulders slump. "I think its my turn to shower." He pulls free of both of them and disappears towards the bedroom, leaving Steve and Sam to look at each other.

"Hey, you wanted to adopt the kid," Sam teases, reaching out to curl his fingers around Steve's wrist, pulling him over into his lap. "Anything lined up?"

"Not until this evening." The stool really doesn't fit two grown man, so Steve stays standing with Sam's legs curled around his.

"Sharon?"

"Mhm." He leans down to kiss Sam softly. He tastes like coffee, reminding Steve he still hasn't had any yet. "You?"

"Need to doublecheck some intel for a job. Probably this afternoon."

"Gives us a few hours to ourselves." Steve grins but takes a step back before Sam can pull him in for another kiss. "Breakfast first."

-

It all happened too fast, there's no chance to get out any kind of message. Steve wakes up in the back of a car. There's an initial flare of panic that he's been blinded until he becomes more aware and conscious. It must have been some kind of gas to leave him feeling so muddled. But now he feels the press of a knot against his skull, and something digging into the skin around his eyes. A blindfold.

His arms are duct taped together behind his back, from his wrists to his elbows. Someone isn't taking any chances. No one says a word to him, and he's careful not to draw any attention, just listening to the car. Someone's thigh is pressed against his, it feels loose and relaxed. Steve wonders if it's Sharon, if she's unconscious and tied up like he is.

The car finally comes to a stop and he counts seconds until the door opens. Forty three. Based on what he hears, the person next to him is dragged out and then Steve feels a hand on his arm and he's yanked out. There's someone on either side of him and he has no doubt there are other guards close at hand so trying to throw himself around to get free would likely backfire quickly. There's no easy way out of this.

He's led into a building and shoved into a chair and the blindfold is finally removed. The initial brightness makes him flinch but he quickly blinks away the stars in his vision.

There are at least three guards he can see, he wouldn't be surprised if there are more he can't. Getting out on his own isn't happening.

He takes a deep breath as a door on the opposite side of the room opens and his captor comes striding in. Steve recognizes him immediately. Arnim Zola, legendary German gunrunner. Steve does his best to keep his expression neutral, it's not his place to judge. Not in a situation like this.

"I have a job for you," Zola says matter of factly. "As you've probably guessed, I have Ms. Carter. You refuse, I kill her. Understood?"

Steve's throat goes dry but he can't give away his fear. "Proof of life before we talk any terms," he tries to sound hard, in control despite his position. "And if you betray me and kill her anyway after doing your dirty work, I'll tear you apart." Zola's grin doesn't reassure him. 

-

Sam watches Bucky pace through the kitchen. He'll stop to pick up a knife on the counter, fidget with it and then return to pacing. He knows he should get up, try to comfort Bucky. Make him relax. But he doesn't even know how to start doing that. He knows how to take Steve aside, get him to let out his anxiety.

Steve isn't here though.

"Sam." Bucky finally stops as if finally noticing Sam standing by the door. "Sam." His voice cracks slightly and he looks so young. He's been in the game as long as the rest of them, so it's easy to forget that he only turned twenty one a few months ago.

"Hey kid," Sam murmurs, holding out an arm. Bucky takes the invitation, holding Sam tightly and burying his head against his shoulder.

"What the fuck is going on?" With his face hidden from Sam, he lets himself sound desperate.

"I don't know. Peggy didn't find anything."

"No one just fucking disappears." He pulls away with a snarl and starts pacing again. "Ste- they have to be somewhere." Sam rubs his hand over his eyes. It's been over two days now. They'd tried to stay calm through the first day, nagging at Sharon's aunt for any information but time has kept on going and the lack of anything has worn on them. "What if his body is-"

"Bucky," it comes out harsher than he intends, but it stops Bucky's train of thought. "Don't." He's not going to plead but it's hard.

Something in Bucky's expression changes and suddenly he's back in Sam's space, his hands cupping Sam's cheeks almost gently. "Sorry. Sorry I'm an ass. I've been so- You're holding shit together and I'm not helping." They don't exist outside of Steve, it's odd but even when Steve isn't around, he somehow defines their relationship. Bucky leans in and kisses him, lips as gentle as his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I understand." He smiles tightly, reaching out to rest his hands on Bucky's hips.

Bucky's fingers hook together at the back of Sam's neck and for a moment they just stand there, holding onto each other. "So what do we do?" Bucky asks softly. "How do we find him?"

"We start tomorrow," Sam says, his exhaustion is obvious in his voice but he's too tired to care. It wouldn't feel right to lie to him anyway, he's not some stray they've taken in anymore. He's theirs and Sam will treat him with the same respect he does Steve, even when it hurts. "Whoever it was knew who they were going after, and if they were going to kill them, they'd make it big, send a message. Hasn't happened so they're needed alive. We've got time." Bucky nods, accepting Sam's explanation. Sam leans into kiss him, not sure if he's expressing his thanks or showing support or love or any other mess of emotions. "Think you can sleep? We've been up too long. If we do something without sleep we'll fuck up." He looks like he might hesitate so Sam curls an arm more firmly around his waist and Bucky sways into him. "Sleep," he murmurs. "For Steve."

"Yea," Bucky breathes. He tilts his head up to brush his lips against Sam's. "You too."

Sam nods and pulls him towards the bedroom. It's the first time they've been in there since Steve disappeared. The bed feels too big without him taking up a third of it. Sam and Bucky end up pressing closer together, as if they can forget he's missing if they hold onto each other tight enough.

They end up falling asleep as soon as they lie down anyway, too well trained at falling asleep anywhere and too burned out to fight it.

-

Steve sits in the back of the car, watching familiar streets slide by. He's exhausted, almost three days, not letting himself get a good rest. Not able to get a good rest. Not after hearing what Zola wanted from him.

He wants to be selfish, he wants to say no, but he can't do that to Sharon. He won't.

The car finally pulls up at their stop. The guard steps out of the car with him and undoes the handcuffs before handing him a gun. It feels off in his hands, not the Glock he's used to, that he keeps in the bedside table, can take apart blindfolded.

He desperately wants to turn the gun on the guard but he can see the driver with his phone in hand. Just waiting for Steve to fuck up. One call and Sharon's dead.

Without a word, he turns towards the door. The guard follows a few feet behind to make sure Steve gets the job done.

-

Sam isn't sure what wakes him up at first, a movement or a sound. When his eyes adjust he realizes it's Steve, standing at the foot of the bed, but before he can say a word Steve gestures for him to be still. Sam frowns but does so.

Steve kneels beside Bucky on the bed and Sam catches another movement out of the corner of his eye, there's someone else in the apartment. Steve touches Bucky's shoulder, leaning over him so his body shields his other hand. Bucky groans softly as he wakes up and only a look from Steve keeps him from leaping up.

"We don't have time. It's Zola. Remember the Montreal job?" Steve asks. Sam can just barely hear Bucky whisper yes. He knows what the Montreal job is, and he had a pretty good suspicion of what was about to happen here, but to get the confirmation feels like getting punched in the gut. There's a hiss from outside the bedroom, whoever is with Steve is getting impatient, no more time to plan this out. 

"Do it," Bucky whispers. "Love you. Can't get rid of me asshole." Sam hears what he's not saying. Can't get rid of me- _find me_. _I trust you._ It's strangely reassuring, realizing their next step is already planned. They have a few safe houses but there's only one that is more than a place of convenience. Sam moves his hand slightly so his fingertips graze Bucky's shoulder.

Steve doesn't shake as he lifts the gun.

-

The cottage had once been only Sam's. He had never had real plans for it. Maybe a fixer upper for his theoretical retirement, or to rent out for some spare cash. Nothing ever actually happened with it until Sam and Bucky needed somewhere to get out of town in a hurry and the cottage was all Sam could think of.

It's tucked away down in Florida, far enough away to be inconvenient and almost impossible to find without a map. Getting there didn't require leaving the country, they could do the drive in a day if determined but if they needed to flee quickly, the Caribbean was easy to get to.

It was as close to safe as they had ever found.

It's been just over a week, Bucky spent most of it unconscious or on pain medication while the hole in his stomach slowly begins to heal. Steve hasn't shown up yet but Peggy's messages say he's on his way. She says they're alright.

Sam won't believe it until he gets to touch Steve again. He wishes sometimes he could get the two of them, Steve and Bucky, out from under his skin. That he could walk away and go back to his own independent life, work his own jobs. Except he knows he'd have snapped without them a long time ago.

He's dozing with Bucky in bed, feeling his warm weight pressed against his side. Sam shifts, rolling onto his side so he can rest a hand on Bucky's stomach, his fingers toying with the edge of the bandage.

He still feels the burn of panic, remembering Steve kneeling over them, the unfamiliar gun in one hand, aimed at Bucky. His instinct had been to lash out, shove Steve away, get to the guard before he could phone in but he knew he couldn't. He dreamed of Bucky's scream the next day while he tried to get a few hours rest in a tiny Delaware hospital. The next shot had gone into the pillow inches from Bucky's right ear and Sam had to press his hand to Bucky's mouth to keep him quiet and still so the guard would think him dead.

He remembers Steve's last desperate look before the guard urged him out. Sam couldn't move, he had to save Bucky. They couldn't let the bad guys win.

Sam still wants Steve to finally show back up though.

"I know why Zola wanted me dead," Bucky mumbles, breaking the quiet. Sam kisses his shoulder to show he's listening. "Killed one of his lieutenants, two months ago. Didn't really care at the time, it didn't matter for the job. Some nutjob scientist, pissed off some other nutjob scientist. Guess the guy mattered more than I realized."

Sam props himself on an elbow and looks down at Bucky. His eyes are focused on the far wall, away from Sam. "It's not your fault. All this shit? Not on you." He takes Bucky's chin carefully and makes him look up at him. "Trust me. You did your job. You had no way of knowing how shit would fallout afterwards." He touches his fingertips to Bucky's lips, feeling each soft even breath ghost over his skin. "Trust me."

Bucky takes a second to answer, tilting his head slightly into Sam's touch. He knows he's asking for a lot. Love is one thing, to care for someone, it happens and changes and at the end of the day, they're all good at pushing that aside. Trust is different. Trust is life and death. And it's there between them, but without acknowledging it, they can stay prepared for the worst.

"I trust you," Bucky whispers. "You and Steve." He gives Sam a small smile that he feels against his fingertips more than he can see it. "And you?"

He replaces his fingers with his lips. "Yea. I do."

-

It takes two weeks. Two weeks of retracing his steps and going in circles and doing whatever he can to make sure no one follows him. He burns three identities to throw off anyone who might be on his tracks.

But finally, after two weeks, he feels safe enough to pull up in front of the cottage. It all feels quiet as he pulls up. It's the middle of the day so the sun shines brightly and no lights inside are on. There's an immediate flare of fear that _they're not there they didn't make it_ but he pushes it away.

He still palms a small blade, it brings some level of comfort.

-

Bucky reaches for the gun kept under the coffee table when he hears the door open. He's still immobile, his stomach hurts with every breath but Sam had to go get groceries. He's together enough to pull the trigger, he's not going down without a fight.

He makes sure the gun is loaded and waits.

-

Steve almost moans in relief when he sees Bucky stretched out on the couch, half hidden under throw blankets but a handgun obviously pointed at the entrance. He slowly holds up his hand, letting the small blade clatter to the floor.

"Please tell me the drugs aren't making me hallucinate," Bucky says, voice shaking but his hand is steady. Bucky's the best shot out of all of them. "Steve?"

"Not yet Buck. I'm real." Steve waits until the gun is set aside before making his way across the room, dropping to the ground next to Bucky so he doesn't risk hurting him further. "I wanted to come back sooner-"

"No." He smiles widely as if Steve wasn't the one who put a bullet in his stomach. As if Steve's sloppiness, getting caught, hadn't sent them here. "No you idiot. You couldn't. We all know Zola's reputation, be stupid to just lead him here after everything."

Steve tries to bite back his laugh but Bucky pouts up at him in confusion and Steve loses it, pressing his forehead to Bucky's chest while he struggles to catch his breath though his laughter. Bucky whines but it's not a sound of pain. One of Bucky's hands thread through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp and finally his giggles slow. He stays there though, his head on Bucky's chest, feeling each rise and fall. "Can't believe you of all people are lecturing me on planning."

"Guess even renowned tactical genius Steve Rogers fucks up sometimes," Bucky teases. Steve slips his hand underneath the blanket and gently traces the edges of the bandages. "Steve don't mope please. Sam just got me to stop." He shifts over until he's pressed against the back of the couch, making just enough room for Steve to squeeze in next to him. Steve stares at the space, thinking of when they pressed close together in bed, of the gun in his hand and Bucky's screams. They've haunted him since he pulled the trigger. "Get up here loser."

"Fuck you Bucky," he responds without thinking but it startles him out of his own head. He stretches out next to him, careful of how he arranges his limbs so he doesn't hurt Bucky anymore.

"Later. When you won't rip my stitches."

Steve bumps his nose against Bucky's cheek. "Hold you to that. I'm sorry. I'm so-" Bucky shuts him up by pressing his mouth to his, taking advantage of his timing to slip his tongue past Steve's lips. They're still there, sharing kisses when Sam gets back.

-

Sam and Steve work together to set up a small practice range out back. It gives Bucky something to do, to stay sharp as he heals. Steve finds him out there most days once he can move more freely. He's not entirely surprised to find a picture of Zola's face pinned to the target, already full of bullet holes.

"No one is stupid enough to put out a hit on Zola, this will have to be self-funded," Steve says, waiting until Bucky's clip empties. Bucky snarls and reloads the gun. "If you're doing this, you're not doing it alone."

That makes Bucky stop and lower the gun to face him. "The guy-"

"Managed to capture me and Sharon," Steve interrupts. "You're not going alone." Bucky looks like he might argue but turns back to his target. "Bucky."

"Alright. Alright. The three of us together." He puts down the gun and turns back to Steve, a smirk on his lips. "I like the sound of it. We're a good team." He flicks the safety on the gun before reholstering it. In the Florida heat he's down to only his shorts, the bandages bright white on his stomach. "I never really had a team before you two. Only you know, training. Each job."

Steve takes a few steps forward, keeping his hands in his pocket so Bucky has to be the one to reach out. He doesn't know much about who Bucky was before, only the kid who kept on getting in Steve's way on jobs. Barely nineteen and already too old and too experienced, with little trust to spare and more than enough recklessness. He's so proud of Bucky now, letting them in. "Think we're a bit more than a team."

"Fuck yea we are," Sam says, startling them both as he comes outside. He curls an arm around Steve's waist, pressing against his back. There's no one else Steve would let so close to him besides these two, to walk up behind him without warning. "So we're gonna get revenge for being fucked with?"

Bucky gestures towards his picture of Zola, almost shredded now. He even manages a small bow though the wince of pain is obvious on his face. Steve hears Sam mumble fucking idiot in his ear but Steve focuses on Bucky finally closing the distance between them. His fingers fit between Sam's on Steve's hip. He's slow and careful at first but then he's pressed against Steve's chest, lips on Steve's. "Stop being scared to touch me."

"When I put a hole in Zola's stomach." He presses his hand flat against Bucky's back, over the bandages there where the bullet ripped a path out of him.

"Might take awhile," Sam says, pressing a kiss to Steve's neck. Bucky grins and mouths at Steve's jaw.

Steve tilts his head to the side for him. "Cheaters. Both of you."

"I have been gone all day," Sam says. "I just want both my idiot partners in bed, don't put up a fuss, tight ass." He pinches Steve's ass.

"Fuck you, you love my ass."

"Think that's his point," Bucky teases.

Steve groans in exasperation, and pulls on Bucky's hair for a kiss. "Ok fine, bed." He gets an arm around both of them to steer them towards the cottage.

-

Sam isn't entirely surprised to wake up and find Steve gone. He hasn't been sleeping well since the first few nights there. Usually he stays in bed and tries to fake it, he hasn't been exhausted in the mornings but it wears on him. Bucky's been distracted and Sam has let it slide because Bucky needs them.

But Bucky's doing better. He's mobile and healing and pulled Steve on top of him in bed. Sam suspects that's why Steve slips away this night.

He waits to see if Steve will come back but when ten minutes pass, he follows.

Sam sees him outside through a kitchen window, a knife loosely in one hand. He starts a kettle for tea before going outside, making sure Steve can hear his footsteps.

"I put a bullet in his stomach," Steve says, not waiting for Sam to make some pretty speech to coax it out of him. "If I fucked up, I could have put one in his head." His shoulders are strained from holding everything back. Sam shoves his shoulder hard and Steve reacts instinctively, bringing the knife around to slash at his attacker. Sam knows the strike is coming, he's spared with Steve enough, and gets his arm up to block. Once Steve catches up mentally, he drops the knife and takes a quick step back. "What the fuck Sam?" He hisses.

"Get over it. Bucky's ok. You're back with us. It's _ok_."

Steve scowls and takes a deliberate step into Sam's space and pushes him. "It's not that fucking easy."

"I know that too." He advances back on Steve and grabs a handful of hair, pulling just enough that it hurts and Steve is razor sharp focus. "But you can't pull this shit. You let it get to you and eat you, it's gonna tear us all down." The night seems to echo with noise, animals and insects and cars in the distance. Each of Steve's breaths cut through it.

"Sam," he finally whispers. "Sam I could have fucking killed him. He came to us as a wreck and I-"

"You didn't betray him. I was there, he knew what was coming and he understood. I understood."

Steve drops his head onto his shoulder, clinging to him. There's no tears but Sam can feel the panic finally leave him. "Sam," he mumbles. "I could never do this shit without you. Never."

"Well get up here and kiss me then."

Steve hums softly as if considering it and kisses Sam's neck, moving slowly up, leaving a path over his skin and over his jaw until their lips finally meet. It's familiar and slow but intense, Sam has his arms around Steve, fingers buried in his hair. He's distantly aware of the kettle's whistle but everything is focused on giving Steve this.

"If you two are gonna fuck on the lawn, the least you can do is wake a guy up first to watch," Bucky interrupts. Sam half turns to see him leaning in the doorway, looking like he's not quite awake.

"Go get some sleep Bucky," Sam says softly. "You need it."

"Bed's cold." He pouts like a child refused a toy.

Steve nuzzles at Sam to get his attention. "Thank you," he whispers before pulling away. "Come on, Buck, let's warm it back up for you."

Sam falls into step with them, reaching out to let his fingers brush over Steve's back to remind him that he's not the only one holding them up. They're going to take care of this together.

-

They head to D.C. a month later, New York is still burned until Zola is taken care of but they have their D.C. apartment fully stocked. Bucky is already itching to get back to work, Steve and Sam have still been pulling jobs but he's had to play dead. It's made him deadly focused on getting to Zola, doing most of the research and intel gathering for them. He's taken up most of the living room with his arsenal, four different handguns, and two rifles with associated attachments and Sam and Steve both know there's a third on his birthday wish list.

Sam watches him from the couch, taking each one apartment with mechanical precision to clean them out. "We've got to get you working, you're starting to creep me out." Bucky flashes him a wicked grin.

"Thought you'd never ask. I know just where to start."

"When Steve gets home, we're doing this together."

Bucky shifts closer to the couch and presses a sloppy kiss to his lips. "Of course, he fucked with all of us so we all deserve a chance to hit back." He moves so he's leaning back against the couch, his guns forgotten for now. Sam lets his arm curl loosely across his chest. "I can shoot him, Steve will punch him a lot and you can stab him."

"You're a morbid fuck."

"Don't see you running away." He tilts his head back to look up at Sam, and underneath his ever present bravado, Sam sees a real curiosity. Bucky's been a liability since he was shot, upending their entire lives. It would have been safer to leave him, disappear and start over. Bucky's job brought down Zola's ire, Steve was collateral, an easy way in but not a target. Sam was just there.

He tugs on his shirt until he slides up to the couch, straddling Sam's waist. He's more mobile now, though the bullet would is still an ugly red. Sam touches it with his fingertips, remembering the sight of Bucky's blood spilling out over his hands. It would have been easier to run and leave him, or even finish what Zola started. But all of that is so far behind them, they just need to figure out a way to keep it there. Sam figures he can start by yanking him down hard for a kiss. "I'm not running," he whispers. "We agreed, all of us together. Holding you and Steve to that."

Bucky's grin is wicked and his hands push at Sam's shirt. "I'm not arguing. Think we can surprise Steve?"

Sam glances at the clock, Steve's working and they both know his projected timetable. "Think you can last that long?"

"Let's find out."

-

Zola is easier to find than they expect, holed up in Mexico City as if being across a border would stop men with reputations like theirs. Getting to him is trickier but they're determined. Revenge can be a dangerous thing but they balance each other, keep it from being overwhelming and driving them to stupid mistakes. 

Bucky gets to put a bullet in his head, crushing his glasses underfoot. Sam adds a second, he says just to be sure.

They leave the body for others to deal with.

Steve waits for them in the car, fine with just being the get away man for this job. Bucky kisses him as soon as he clambers into the car, leaving streaks of blood on his cheeks and neck. "We're good to go."

"Success?" He doesn't need to ask, not with that look in their eyes.

Bucky holds up Zola's glasses like a trophy. "Fucker's iced. We've sent our own message." Steve reaches back as he steers the car away from Zola's safehouse, carefully losing themselves in narrow city streets. Sam grips his hand tightly. He's there and safe. Bucky makes himself comfortable, his head on Steve's shoulder and a foot up on the dash.

"I think we should celebrate," Bucky says and Steve has no doubt exactly what kind of celebration he means.

"I think we were going to do that anyway," Sam laughs. "But we can call it a celebration. Just as long as you leave the glasses somewhere out of sight."

"Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this needs an explanation but I've got nothing


End file.
